Being Human
by Im A Yandere
Summary: "His human name is Alfred F. Jones." What does it mean to be human.


**Title:** Being Human

**Class:** One-Shot, unless stated otherwise

**Rating:** T

**A/N:** Just my thoughts and ideas on what it means to be a country, enjoy.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The United States of America, or most commonly known as America, laid in bed. His eyes blankly gazed at the wall. The moonlight that peaked through his satin curtains bounced off from his baby blue colored walls, making the shadows look menacing. He could still hear the occasional footsteps of those other nations who decided to keep him company.

The smell of saline fluids and the blood clouded his room. The young nation still had dry blood in his hair. His arms were wrapped in bandages, however, the bleeding didn't cease. His shoulder was still in pain from having dislocated it. The neck brace was rather itchy. His two fractured ribs, three bruised, and the four that had punctured his lungs, obviously made it hard to breath. The oxygen mask draped over his mouth made it easier for him. Both of his legs broken meant he couldn't get out of bed.

The beeping of the heart monitor kept him awake. The blood transfusions that he was getting ever hour were unnecessary. 'Pity', thought the blond haired man. 'The blood could be used on someone who actually needed it.' He gave an empty smile, however. His face muscles refused to hold it for more than a second.

The nation should be dead.

However, America wasn't human. Rather than being dead, he was just in pain. The morphine drip was the only thing that kept him from screaming out. Not that he could scream, or talk for the matter. His larynx was badly damaged and humanly unrepairable. Texas, his glasses, was perched on the table near his bed side. Texas was unharmed, not a single scratch on it.

His memory still had blank spots, but he knew it couldn't have been more than a few hours since the car accident.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

_**Earlier that day**_

The American nation stepped out from the tall building into the fresh afternoon air. The world meeting was boring, as usual; Germany shouting at everyone to shut up, France and England arguing, Russia being a Socialist bastard, China getting molested by Korea. He chuckled a bit. As boring as those meetings were, he couldn't help but laugh every time he walked out of one. Japan was there too, he just sat there drawing on his conference paper. Italy of course complained about not having pasta. He could go on, but America had other things to do other than naming what every country in the world did at said meeting. The other countries started shuffling out of the large building. Most took cabs back to their hotels; form then, America could only assume that their private jets would take them home. The American smirked, thank goodness the meeting was held in DC, he hated jet lag.

The American slowly made his way to his beautiful Porsche. He wanted to get home as soon as possible. Japan had given him a new game and he was anxious to play it. However, it was fates decision that America should get hit by a speeding car. The once grey hood was coated in fresh blood. The young nation was thrown into the air and the impact with the concrete was anything but soft.

America was sprawled out, his limbs bent in awkward direction. Texas had been thrown off; it lay a few feet from its owner. The westerner looked up at the warm sky. He didn't look in both directions; however, it wasn't his fault. The parking space was reserved for VIP's, in other words, the other countries. He was losing consciousness fast, but he still caught a few things.

He heard England falling to his knees right next to him, France and Canada apprehending the driver (he was obviously drunk), and he also heard the gruff voice of his '_agent',_ "Mr. President, Alfred F. Jones is down. Yes sir, I repeat Mr. America has been in an accident." It was at that moment that America undertook two separate identities.

The United States of America and his human name, _Alfred F. Jones._

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

America snapped himself back into reality. The agent was one of the men his president had assigned to him. The agent was sworn into secrecy, in which he swore to never reveal who or what Alfred F. Jones was. The agent had no name and he was always a shadow following the young nation. This agent had all the responsibility of cover up his steps. He made sure that when out in public, he was known as Alfred. His agent was in charge of cleaning up the messes that involved him entering his name into the US system. America went pale, breaking his sworn pledge would only lead to bad consequences.

Alfred F. Jones was his human name. Yes, he chose that name. America's lips curved upward, the name brought back such fond memories. George Washington (a man he practically saw as a father) had asked him to make a human name for himself. Washington said it was to "Make you feel loved and cared for. To show you that you're just like us, us who fought for our freedom."

The blond man loved his name, he took pride in it. However, he also hated it.

Alfred F. Jones didn't exist. Nobody and he meant absolutely nobody was registered under that name. His government made sure that the name 'Alfred F. Jones' was never used. The name belonged to him, and yet he wasn't in the system. The blue eyed man sighed. In those occasions when his name had to be looked up, it would be there, however, once people were done poking at who he was, all traces of his name would be erased, and Alfred F. Jones would once again fade into nothingness.

Alfred F. Jones had no official history. Alfred's history is whatever in needs to be; from a college dropout to a secret service agent. He had a driver's license; it said his human age was nineteen. Funny, he'd been nineteen for quite a while now. July 4th of 1776 was his actual birthday. However to make sure he stayed nineteen in human years, the year was constantly being changed.

America looked down at his injuries, they didn't matter; human injuries would heal quickly and won't leave scars. What did leave scars were things like the Civil War or 9/11, things like that left scars.

No, America isn't some Country who throws up a façade of happiness. He really is just a happy person. Contrary to popular belief, he isn't an idiot. No, he isn't actually some evil person with dark intentions of ruling the world. Spreading Democracy is another issue entirely. America would much rather stay happy, be loud, and enjoy life rather than stay tied down to business suits and mature attitude. The American would rather work on impulses than having to actually think things through. He would rather help spread peace, love, and kindness. I suppose you could say that he wants a peaceful Utopia. America was positive that a human doesn't ever think about the things he does.

The Westerner would laugh if he could. His childish ideas were a waste. He's a hypocrite for thinking all of that, but he really can't help it. America was a loving country by heart, unless you rubbed him the wrong way.

'Human', sometimes America wondered what it would mean to be human. If he were human he wouldn't have to worry about a lot of stuff. Being human meant that he could take pictures. America wasn't allowed to show his face to the press or take pictures. He didn't age much so it would be pretty strange if twenty years later you ran into a guy that looked like hadn't aged a bit. However, the young nation does have self-portraits and pictures of himself with all the presidents.

Being human meant that he could have actual neighbors, not secret service member. Those men weren't his friends. They were just trained to keep him safe. Being human meant that he could experience religion. America the actual landmass was mostly Christian. However, America himself couldn't choose a religion, his country has many religions. America knew that religion was the cause of so many disputes, he was almost glad he didn't have a religion. His Heaven is all the wonderful moments he's had throughout his history. His Hell is all the times he's suffered on this Earth.

Being human would mean dying. America didn't die. Alfred F. Jones, however, has died many times. He doesn't know how many times, he lost track.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. The friendly faces of his allies approached him. How long had he been awake? The morning sun was peaking through his curtains.

America looked at his fellow nations. The gentleness in their voices soothed his mind. It made him forget all those depressing thoughts.

He was vulnerable, and he knew it. Tears kissed his cheek. He really didn't know why. However, one look at his fellow nations told him exactly why.

If being a country meant that he'd have to watch how all his presidents were buried six feet underground while he lived on then so be it. If being a Country meant that Alfred F. Jones had to die many times more then so be it.

However, if being human meant that he'd eventually die and leave behind the only people he knew as friends, than he'd rather never be human.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

**A/N:** Hmm, I hoped you enjoyed. 


End file.
